She wrote the “Ode!”at the bottom of this post and she said to me:

I knew he’d never see it and I didn’t fear his ability to retaliate against me; by then, I’d convinced myself he would not take my life and its enjoyment because I would not let it happen. I probably had too much sass in me then when the threat was still there, but I didn’t like where he left me and how I felt; I still don’t. A year ago this month the poem was written as a therapy assignment that DID make me feel a little better. I’ve always been VERY adamant that I am NOT in any way interested in this man and I’m less interested now, if you can be less than 0% interested. I’m 85-90% back to normal and some days, it’s probably 95%. The nightmares still happen, but it is getting a little easier.

That in tune with doing the right thing in a therapy session, 8 days after the chat with his boss, and yet, needing it validated. Yeah, I’m the crazy one — I don’t think so. The fact he has 6, 4 and 2 year old granddaughters makes it worse. His daughter is two months younger than I am. His boss, —- (my ex-friend) hired his daughter to work for this company in March of last year. She’s 20 and a really good looking girl. I worried for her; part of my reasoning too for telling —. If —- thinks so much of —- that he’s willing to sacrifice his daughter’s safety to keep the pervert employed, it speaks volumes about his character. Here’s the poem:

Ode to Slime

Like the waves of the ocean, my days ebb and flow
Some moments are peaceful; others sink below
In a moment of strength, I smile and I laugh
Just one moment later, I beg for a raft
This is now my life; my life known after you
My heart, tossed and broken; a nightmare come true
The lies and deception, the grief and regret
I’ve done nothing wrong, but I feel them; you bet

What we shared was no friendship, whatever you say
For friendship defined is never this way
A friend never strives to make you two feet tall
No, this was no friendship; no friendship at all
The emotional rape of my spirit runs deep
And though you don’t care, this promise I’ll keep
Your toxic existence may have caused me strife
But, no matter your effort, you’ll not steal my life

Your slimed way of life has lost its appeal
You are such a phony and I plan to heal
So, whene’er your waves come to spew o’er my heart
I’ll rise to the surface, grateful we’re apart
I’ll swim towards the shoreline and bask in the sun
I’ll pump my fists proudly, admitting I’ve won
For I am much stronger than you ever knew
I’m better, I’m hopeful, I’m loved, despite you

I live for the future, in spite of my past
I learn from mistakes; life lessons to last
I maintain the friendships that you tried to steal
Unlike our nightmare, those friendships are real
In time, I’ll move past these dark days I now know
And no more will I find myself sinking below
That day, I’ll be grateful for the pain you brought
Because you will have proven all that you are not

You are not perfection and God’s gift to all
You are not a Savior to heal those who fall
You are not a Saint, worthy of a shrine
You are not, nor will you ever, be mine
You are not a hero, better than human race
You are not a martyr, surrounded in grace
While I am not either, I accept this fact well
I do not feel the need to make earthen Hell

On my day of healing, I’ll finally see
The pain and heartache that you brought to me
I’ll find myself wiser to the likes of you
While you’ve slithered back to the rock pile you knew
I’ll continue my journey of wisdom and truth
Far from your existence, dismal and uncouth
As I stand on the shoreline, I will watch you drown
Because Karma’s a bitch and one day, you’ll go down!
© 2012 – Jill Eisnaugle’s Poetry Collection.

Really, at this point I should not be surprised that what is written on your blog does further validate that in every stalking situation, there are similarities, but I always am. I guess when you’ve lived a life of good, law abiding, sheltered happiness, having to face this reality and “world” is trying to make sense of senseless – and you can’t. The more sense I try to make of it; the more I ask “why me” (even when I know the answer), the less sense it all makes. The good people of the world just cannot see — until disaster hits — that some live their lives with one goal in mind: evil.

I always knew that evil existed (9/11 was a wake up call for those that needed a reminder on a large scale), but it is so easy to say “well, bad stuff won’t happen to me.” It sounds so cliche, but it screams how anyone can become a victim of stalking. And the more we think “it can’t happen to me,” the more we plaster “target” on our backs.

I read quite a bit of the police report that is out there about Morgan’s case and as I read, I shook my head. Not in a bad way or in any way that blames your family (victims are NEVER to blame and I stand by that a billion fold). I just saw, like in my situation, Morgan not wanting to “make a big deal of it” in the times when it wasn’t as bad and being scared witless when it was bad. I get it — even if those that judge you and have never been through this, do. When I look back over 7 years with the radio station (5 years with —- in the mix), it was all toxic from the start. Even before —- entered the picture, I contacted the radio station; they claimed to have discovered me. They invited me to the event in 2007 where I met —- (so really THEY put me in the situation). The next year, they blamed me for broadcast screw ups when I was nowhere near the broadcast area and when I came forward to discuss and address what happened to me — which I would do again, no question — it was “let me help you and then, we’ll set you up and make you look like the crazy one.”

It takes incredible strength to stand up to abuse; I think when you come from a good background and deal with it, you instinctively know it’s wrong and that makes it easier to come forward. Some victims in long-standing narcissistic/sociopathic relationships are content to stay there; most aren’t. I’ve had nightmares the last two nights NOT about — or the stalking, but the wishy-washy nature of company I worked for. That, in and of itself, is telling. The fact they have chosen to protect evil and praise it with a promotion is pathetic. But, back to my point, I didn’t want to make a big deal of —-‘s flirtations, even if logic says a 52-57 year old (span the 5 years) having any feelings towards a 26-31 year old is bizarre. Logic, then, says, “Oh, it’s nothing,” until it is something. I shutter to think how much worse it would have gotten for me had I not put my foot down when I did. If I had gone to his lakehouse; if I had stayed in the mess just 3 weeks longer and he would have kept lying (as I know now) about his girlfriend moving out. As beaten down as he made me and brainwashed into doing whatever he wanted, in an effort to save myself; I just can’t think what would have happened, even if deep down I know. It is a scary reality that you know all too well. I sit here and say “Would he have killed me?” I can’t answer it. But, I have no doubt – had it continued – he would have either coerced me into coming to his lakehouse on the guise of a vacation from the stress or he would have shown up here, he would have pursued something sexual, I would have tried fighting him off – which would not have worked – and who knows…. women are killed every day, fighting for their protection.

So much more needs to be done in education across the board — law enforcement; even teach courses at schools because your prime target range is the young, inexperienced population. At 26 when it started, I was a little outside the typical target age; at 52, —- was way beyond being close in age, but how many other times has he done this, while younger? You have to wonder and you know he has. It’s just amazing, looking back on it, how —- was able to tell me openly how he was tested in school for potential problems, how he left the first wife for the second and has cheated numerous times, the drug bust on TV, etc. and yet in his “act weird/then normal/then weird” nature, to convince me he was NOT a problem. Never again will I ignore the gut instinct that screamed at me that first day. Lesson learned. Anyhow, you may have made mistakes in not always calling the police soon enough or what not, but you probably didn’t want to overreact either and I understand that, all too well and that’s not your fault, even in Morgan’s death. You could have called the cops sooner and it may not have made a difference; the stealth nature of these sick individuals is uncanny.

I don’t think there is anyone that has ever been through any stalking situation that has come through it with the same viewpoint as before. It changes you in ways that I’m still learning. I’m more compassionate towards victims like the Penn State case than I used to be (I was always the first to say that some victim coming forward 15 years later does so for money; then, I blocked the worst of what happened to me from my mind, unable to discuss the worst for the pain of it all for 3 months of being free from it — something which, according to my therapist, is totally normal. The body shocks and blocks out pain until we’re able to cope.); my neighbor – down the street – came up to ask a question, caught me off guard, wrapped his arm around me and I nearly decked him, swearing at him even to get his hands off me. —- never actually touched me, but he touched a place deeper within me that is scarred now.

I blamed myself for the longest time for lying to —- about being in a relationship when I wasn’t, back in 2008 after Dad died. My therapist told me to knock that off. She said “Women lie every day to protect the feelings of those they don’t want to date; it’s normal.” The fact, looking back now, that he communicated with me before Dad passed, but waited until Dad’s death to ramp up the insanity tells me that he likely researched our family too, saw Dad was ex-law enforcement (if I didn’t tell him) and he knew the minute Dad was gone, a piece of my safety was too. I rejected him then, as I did 5 other times; so he waited until 2 weeks after Mom’s pacemaker surgery (which he called “scary” when it wasn’t at all) and over Christmas, which he knew was tough, to catch me totally off guard. A true pro and like you, I can see Keenan being a young terror in the making, if you can ever get anyone to listen. It saddens me that Morgan ID’d him and that wasn’t enough to save her life. So much more work in training the public and law enforcement needs done. This happens far too often.

Steve mentioned Jessica Ridgeway and that story broke my heart. When I think back to the Jon Benet Ramsey case (and I never believed the Ramseys killed their daughter) and think of how Colorado law enforcement humiliated and shamed them over the years, it infuriates me more that law enforcement in the same state is railroading your need to get this investigation re-opened as well. The case isn’t closed when it isn’t solved and there are too many variables here still unsolved (and yes, I’ve signed the petition).

I don’t claim to know everything and I’m still working my way through the aftermath of it all myself, but 4 or 5 days after —- basically asked permission to stalk me online (despite knowing he’d already done it — listening to my gut at last), I thought of it as bad enough that I could not face the aftermath alone and those around me — friends and family even, would struggle to understand how I felt. I voluntarily put myself into counseling and as my therapist has said in calling me her “star patient” because I have worked so, so hard, no one goes to therapy willingly if they’re guilty and no narcissist or sociopath will ever willingly go to therapy. Even when they do, therapy actually teaches them how to better cover their tracks or it puts the mask back in place. There is no cure for sociopaths. The best thing to do is run when you recognize them, but when you don’t recognize them, it’s hard. Education needs done, across the board.

Today was a very busy Friday, and I have pushed back from my desk and am taking a few moments and thinking of Morgan.  Spring is here and the snow is all gone from the yard, not a single patch left, green will soon replace the many shades of brown that dominate now.

Morgan loved the snow and told all her friends how much she loved falling snow.  She loved to try to catch a flake on her tongue with a smile so big it was contagious to anyone who saw it.  I like to think about her love for catching snowflakes on her tongue because it is something she and her father did often when she was young.  It’s hard to catch a snowflake on your tongue sometimes, and it became a little challenge she carried with her for the rest of her life.

The simple things in life were all so Morgan, because it was all she really needed, the simple things.  To paint, capture an image with a camera, walk her puppy to the park, sketch, knit, and crochet mittens for a gift – these were all the simple things she enjoyed.  Camping with her friends… she had an old Landrover with over 300,000 miles and absolutely loved that no matter where the “boys” brought her she would never get stuck, and she would get to look back when they got stuck, and ask “what’s the matter?”

Steve and I were so enormously blessed to have Morgan in our lives for 20 years. It is too easy to forget the true joy she gave us, and I have to do a better job of remembering.

Who knows what would have been her next adventure, but I bet it would have been something simple, and you know it would have been great.